#longsounded

It had been a few months since he had first met Chandra and Rohan, but they were always so pleasant that it was easy to interact with them.

"How'd he like the performance tonight? Did it help him sleep?"

— from @longsounded, unprompted.

Jonny's kindness still felt unreal to him, even after all this time. These weekly concerts had become part of his schedule ages ago, but as with a lot of things in Chandra's life these days, that didn't make them any less surreal. Half the time he felt like he was a hair's breadth away from waking up on a mouldy floor with puke in his mouth, and was shocked each morning when he woke up in bed instead.

Despite Jonny's greeting, the baby in his arms slept peacefully, his little fist curled up and propped by his chin. It was a far cry from the teary-eyed thing Chandra retrieved hours earlier from his housemate (a kind woman with a preteen of her own), but Rohan always got fussy when he was away too long. Between work and his weekly NA meeting, Chandra'd been out for twelve hours today, and these regular concerts were a lullaby as much as they were an apology for being gone.

Glancing down as Rohan drooled, Chandra bit back the smile as he wiped the mess away. "He's sleeping good, yeah. He knocked out after intermission-- that's a big deal."

Now that he knew how to use his voice, Rohan was a babbler, but whenever the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play, he always shut up and listened attentively. It was almost miraculous.

— from @longsounded, original meme.

When Cat told him, teasingly, that he had a cute visitor, Clark wasn't sure what to expect. Colour him surprised when Jonny comes into view by the Planet's reception desk, then-- especially so when he catches sight of what looks to be a box of treats in hand.

"Mr. Werthers!" He doesn't even bother to hide his pleasure, allowing a sweet smile to bloom on his lips. Clark hurries over, gently touches the outside of Jonny's wrist, and then gestures for him to follow his lead towards his desk. "Oh, man, come on, you don't have to stand here...

"I like everything, so you're fine" -- he laughs, a little shy -- "but you didn't have to get me anything in the first place, goodness.

— from @longsounded, unprompted.

Hearing his name stunned Clark from where he'd been staring wistfully out the clear window leading outside. He was flustered when he turned to meet Jonny's gaze, but that didn't stop his mouth from curving into a smile at the sight of him.

"Mr. Werthers!" He moved to stand, accidentally raised the edge of the table with his knee, and very nearly sent the cup of coffee there flying. After a quick flail, both Clark's hands slammed onto the table's surface in an attempt to steady the darn thing again.

"Oh, shoot-- hi!" The table stabilised with minimal spillage, thank goodness. Clark just had to wipe some tiny drops of coffee away. "Hi. Yes, I'm Clark Kent." He stuck his right hand out for a shake, and the left pushed his glasses back up his nose. "With the Daily Planet. Thanks for making it out here today.

— from @longsounded, unprompted.

Sebastian's answering laugh was scratchy in his chest (all that smoking'll kill you someday, Shepard), but not any less pleased.

"'All right'?" he echoed, the arm that had been wrapped around Jonny shifting to clap a strong hand over his bicep. "What the hell else am I supposed to do in retirement except dote on my beautiful granddaughter, huh?"

Bending, Sebastian pressed a kiss to Poppy's little head. "I'm just sorry her Nana ain't around to see her today."

Maybe he'd remember to take photos for her, but Sebastian wasn't banking on it. He opened the door wider, gesturing for Jonny to enter.

       ❝ Hey! ❞   He's so chipper, it's almost like there was a physical tail wagging behind him. Sue hops right up to him, whipping out a bouquet from behind his back.   ❝ Brought you some flowers.   - Thought you might like'm. ❞

Though, try as he might, nothing further was able to fall from his lips aside from a gentle, "Never mind. I'm sorry."

"Oh!" He laughed, bright and well-meaning. "Please."

There the Grabber stood, his mask on in full-- his smile was as wide as ever. The fingers on the door's handle remained in place, but his eyes were facing the boy on the ratty old mattress now.

It wasn't very often that he took a Nice Boy home, if at all. Their curiosity, however, was decidedly more important than any old tradition. Was he really nice? Was he just as kind as Albert thought he was, or just a gifted liar?

"You really want it that badly?"

Megatron's holo avatar narrowed his eyes. He sighed ( loudly, pointedly ) and slid his hands into his pockets. This was supposed to be easy : whatever cash he had shoved into his well - worn bomber jacket in exchange for the orb. It was a smooth metal piece that fit neatly into the human's hand — an altogether insignificant thing until one picked it up, felt its unusual weight, and ran their fingers along the Cybertronian carved around it.

Most of the little insects on this planet were capable of being bribed almost immediately as long as he supplied enough of the thin paper they called currency. Megatron's fingertips touched the wad of bills in his coat absently. His silver - hued stare, hard and metallic, remained on the man in front of him.

dialogue assortment. | @longsounded

well, it's not like he feels particularly good about it.

barnes is an urban hunter, stalking easily through new york skylines and down alleyways, but he isn't infallible. the first time they ran into each other had been--jarring. bucky hadn't thought of what the right thing to do was but shield jonathan from a fusillade of bullets trailing behind him (turns out he'd been fed bad info, and the target had a whole contingency plan in case of his death), ultimately tackling him to the ground and hovering his weight over the young trumpeter. not a great first impression, but it was better to come away with some blossoming impact bruises instead of a barrage of wound holes. caked in still-wet blood, he'd administered a terse 'sorry', picked him back up, and went on his way.

the second time was strange coincidence. he hadn't deliberately chosen the lincoln center for performing arts to take his target down at, but it had harmoniously coincided as the most viable location to strike. the sound of the rehearsing philharmonic soundly obscures his target's struggles, garrote wire dug deep into the folds of his neck, bucky's superior strength eventually forcing the wire through his skin. he stops only when he feels a hot geyser of blood paint his arms and hands, suddenly aware he'd been pulling so tight he'd severed the carotid arteries. the man's body slumps as the fight goes out of him, and barnes leaves him where he'd killed him, collapsed against the interior of one bathroom stall.

he'd ran into jonathan in the hallway, watched his eyes blow wide and deer-like. you're--

bucky had touched his shoulders, soaked blood into them. there was no intention to implicate, but he's sure the poor guy had a rough few days of police interrogation after that. don't go in there, yeah? use another bathroom. whether or not he'd listened, bucky didn't know; in the next instant, he was gone, flying up a rooftop escape staircase.

the third time.. well, bucky heard a saying, once. one is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. he's beginning to wonder if the universe is forcing them together, or if they're both just painfully unlucky. bucky is ejected through a sixth story skyrise window. glass rains down on the street below, and he thuds onto the top of a car; the vehicle crumbles in response, absolutely decimated by his weight. he's soaked in it, this time, blood matting his hair to his skin, mixing into the eye-black pigment smeared around his sockets. he looks like some reaper out of folklore, or a ghost given form, haunting and visceral. some of the blood is his, most of it isn't.

thankfully for him, the impact of the vehicle just rolls through him, half absorbed by his suit, the rest cushioned by experimentation and serums. it only takes barnes a moment or two to recover before he goes barreling down a side street. if he gets away, he's successfully exfiltrated what he'd set out to collect: very precious, valuable data packed into a small hard drive, unable to be digitally recollected or skimmed. he didn't ask why nick wanted the things he did--he just performed, and he did his job well.

this time, he almost bodies the poor kid. bucky stops in time to lessen the collision, reaching out to stop jonny from collapsing to the ground. the guy has a bag of food slung over his arm, plastic, probably take-away or some such--bucky would've felt like a prize asshole if he'd ruined his dinner. it doesn't take jonathan long to recognize him. seconds, maybe, under the mess he wears. ' why is it whenever we see each other, ' he starts, and bucky kindly relinquishes his hold on him, ' you’re covered in blood? '

oh. it did come across like that, didn't it? the mask covering his nose and mouth peels away, electronically rescinding into unseen platelets. the blood oddly creates a tan-like impression where the material had protected the rest of his face from accruing scarlet, though the clarity does portray his features better: barnes is handsome, if a bit tired. ' i get rough jobs. ' the kind no one else wanted to do, if he was being honest. jonathan lays a gentle hand on his natal forearm. ' can i clean you up a bit? ' bucky can't tell if the offer comes as a form of recompense for shielding him weeks prior, or if he's making it because he's scared--he's sure he cuts a daunting figure right now.

but, it'd be nice to get the blood out of his hair, at least.